


a hell of a feeling

by aceofjapan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Decisions, Canon Compliant, Dangerous Behaviours, Detroit, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Implied/References Mental Health Issues, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, No beta: we die like men, Open Relationships, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairings, Underage Drinking, college party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofjapan/pseuds/aceofjapan
Summary: Looking back, it had been strange—Yuuri was not exactly the type to socialise voluntarily, and usually it was Phichit dragginghimto a party every once in a while, not the other way round.But Yuuri had already been looking delicious when Phichit came home from his last class of the day, dressed in dark blue slacks that hugged his ass and thighs and flowed more generously around his legs, and a black blazer made from a glittering, shimmering fabric. Phichit had barely had time to wonder where he got that from before he noticed that underneath, Yuuri was wearing asheer turtleneckof all things, that clung to his throat and still gave a glimpse of his chest and abs. The sight of it sent all thoughts tumbling out of Phichit‘s head, so he hadn’t questioned it at all when Yuuri all but bounced over to him to pull him into a kiss hello before declaring cheerfully that they were going out to a frat party tonight.
Relationships: Phichit Chulanont/Katsuki Yuuri
Comments: 15
Kudos: 35
Collections: YOI Rare Pair Week 2020





	a hell of a feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my contribution to this year's Rare Pair Week! Day 5: Bad Decisions  
> I've been wanting to write some Phichuuri forever. Enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to [Rae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zuzuhi/pseuds/Zuzuhi) for alpha reading! <3 <3 <3

Looking back, it had been strange—Yuuri was not exactly the type to socialise voluntarily, and usually it was Phichit dragging _him_ to a party every once in a while, not the other way round.

But Yuuri had already been looking delicious when Phichit came home from his last class of the day, dressed in dark blue slacks that hugged his ass and thighs and flowed more generously around his legs, and a black blazer made from a glittering, shimmering fabric. Phichit had barely had time to wonder where he got that from before he noticed that underneath, Yuuri was wearing a _sheer turtleneck_ of all things, that clung to his throat and still gave a glimpse of his chest and abs. The sight of it sent all thoughts tumbling out of Phichit‘s head, so he hadn’t questioned it at all when Yuuri all but bounced over to him to pull him down into a kiss hello before declaring cheerfully that they were going out to a frat party tonight.

Phichit had let himself be ushered into his bedroom without a complaint, had gamely started pulling outfits out of his closet and onto his body until he found the right one, had let himself be distracted, only a little bit, by the kisses Yuuri bestowed upon his neck, his shoulders, his back, whenever Phichit was changing out of a top. 

After all, it was rare that Yuuri took the initiative like that where their everyday life was concerned. It had been long enough since they started their _thing_ that he was comfortable initiating physical contact between them, and he’d, rather surprisingly, taken to taking the lead in the bedroom more often than not (which Phichit didn’t mind in the least). But in the rest of their activities together it was still a constant litany of _I don’t mind either way_ and _Whatever you feel like doing_.

So when for once there was something that Yuuri obviously wanted to do, Phichit seized the opportunity to indulge him with both hands, without giving it a second thought.

They settled on a knitted crop top for him to wear, baring his midriff, and a knee length tan skirt sitting snug around his waist, complimenting his skin tone nicely. A light pale peach coat, worn open, would complete the outfit once they went out, along with a pair of high heeled boots that he didn’t often get the chance to wear.

They did each other’s make-up sitting on the rim of the bathtub, giggling and trading frequent kisses, just to make sure, of course, that their lipstick was as kissproof as it claimed to be.

By the time they left were already staggering with laughter, holding on to each other, and Phichit felt giddy, like they had already pre-gamed, though there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in his blood. Yet.

The party was in full swing when they arrived, and it wasn’t long before they each had a drink in their hand, and quicker still it was gone, replaced by another, and another.

By the time Phichit realised that Yuuri was drinking with perhaps more than his usual fervor, he’d already had a few drinks himself, and was too tipsy to be seriously concerned.

_What the hell_ , was all he thought at the time, _he’s had a rough couple of weeks. He deserves to let loose for a while_.

Perhaps it would have been wise, at this point, to cut himself off and stay relatively sober in order to keep an eye on Yuuri, but in his state it just didn’t seem important, and drunk Yuuri was very intoxicating and _very_ persuasive. 

He had another drink, and another.

He revelled in the music and the crowd of beautiful people—everyone was so beautiful tonight—and he revelled in Yuuri, in how beautiful he was and how everyone’s eyes were on him when he spun over the dance floor. He revelled in how Yuuri kept returning to him.

Judging by their looks, Yuuri could have most everyone here tonight, gay, straight or otherwise, and he had every right to it—by mutual agreement they’d never made their _thing_ exclusive—and yet he kept returning to Phichit. Kept pulling him into his lap or onto the dance floor, kept pushing his lips against Phichit‘s neck and another drink into his hand.

Phichit wasn’t the possessive type—he was more the type for if you love someone set them free, and freely Yuuri returned to him. It made other people’s eyes on them burn as deliciously on his skin as the alcohol did in this throat.

He had another drink.

There was a point at which the night started to fragment into shards and splinters of time, weirdly intense and colourful, glued together with intervals of vague movement and muffled noise.

* * *

Phichit remembered leaning on Yuuri two or three hours into the party, with more than his usual affection, arms wrapped around his shoulders and face buried in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“Carry me, Yuuri!”, he demanded, “my feet hurt.”

“Okay”, was all Yuuri said, like it wasn’t even a question to him, and lifted Phichit up by the hips, guiding his legs to wrap around Yuuri’s waist. Hands snug around Phichit’s thighs, Yuuri swayed a little, but held firm.

“Better?”

“Mh”, Phichit murmured into Yuuri’s neck, hooking his ankles behind Yuuri’s back, “much better. Feet. Shoes. Hurts.”

“Told you not to wear those shoes”, Yuuri murmured back, a laugh in his voice.

“Did not.” Phichit lifted his head so he could look at Yuuri, and let out a pitiful whine. “I wanna dance more. With you. I wanna dance with you! But… feet.”

Yuuri blinked at him slowly, a small crease between his eyebrows, like he was trying to puzzle out a riddle. Then he seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Well, come on then”, he said, letting go of Phichit so that he dropped back down to the floor on shaky feet. 

Before Phichit could even give him a betrayed look, he said, “Off.”

Phichit frowned at him in confusion before realising that Yuuri was gesturing to his boots.

“But, Yuuri… I can’t just go barefoot! Not in here.” He looked around them, at the tracks of countless shoes on the floor, the spilled drinks, chips crumbs and dirt trodden into the floorboards. “That’s gross.”

“Won’t have to. You can wear my sneakers.”

Two thoughts simultaneously popped into Phichit’s mind. The first being _but they won’t go with my outfit_ and the second _but then you’ll have to be barefoot on the gross floor_. Perhaps it was a good thing he only voiced the latter out loud.

Yuuri shook his head impatiently. “I’ll wear your boots. Now come on, off, off!” He gestured again towards Phichit’s shoes.

Phichit wrinkled his brow even as he already bent down to undo the buckles of his boots.

“But you can’t walk in high heels”, he protested.

Yuuri shrugged. “Never really tried. I do ballet three times a week, though. How hard can it be?”

Phichit snorted. “Your funeral.”

He tugged down the zippers of his boots and slipped out of them and into Yuuri’s sneakers. They really didn’t go with his outfit, but they were like heaven on his feet. Yuuri, in the meantime, plopped down on the nearest surface, the armrest of a sofa, in order to pull on the boots. They might be a little small for him, but thankfully he and Phichit were almost the same size.

Both zips zipped and buckles buckled, Yuuri got to his feet, teetering a little. The boots didn’t quite have stiletto heels, but they were quite narrow, and for a moment Phichit was worried Yuuri would topple over. But he found his balance and took a few cautious steps to where Phichit was standing, coming to stand right before him, close enough to rest his hands on Phichit’s waist.

Phichit tilted his head back. He swallowed.

He knew Yuuri had a few inches on him, but they were close enough in size that he didn’t usually notice it much. When he’d been wearing the boots, they had been almost evenly matched. 

Now, though… now, the added four inches had Yuuri almost one head taller than him, and it made his mouth run dry. 

Judging by the faint smirk on Yuuri’s lips, it had not escaped his notice.

“I could get used to this.”

“Yeah?”, Phichit grinned up at him, “You like them?”

Yuuri nodded. “It’s not comfortable. But it’s doable.” He looked down with a small frown, lifting one foot in order to trace his gaze along the lines of the heel. “This better not awaken anything in me.”

It was definitely awakening something in Phichit, but that would have to wait a little longer. First he wanted to dance. 

* * *

Yuuri was a whirlwind on the dance floor. 

He always was, once Phichit could get him on one and get a couple of drinks in him. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen Yuuri cut loose quite like this.

He would twirl Phichit over the dance floor in one moment, delicate but confident, and the next they would grind on each other, all heat and bass. At some point, Yuuri lost his glittering blazer somewhere, leaving him in his sheer turtleneck, displaying his late-season physique to everyone at the party.

And then he started breakdancing. Phichit didn’t even know he could do that. Much less in heels.

He stared on in fascination as a space cleared around Yuuri on the dance floor, and of course some of the frat boys and people Phichit thought he vaguely recognised as hockey players couldn’t pass up Yuuri’s challenge, and in no time at all, there was a full blown dance battle on the floor.

Phichit may be a touch biased, but he was fairly certain that Yuuri eradicated all of them.

When he stumbled back toward Phichit he was laughing, out of breath and flushed with exertion, a bottle of some gold-coloured liquid having somehow appeared in his hand.

He slurred something that Phichit couldn’t quite understand but it didn’t matter; Phichit laughed too, high on booze and the thrill of watching Yuuri and the general hilarity of the situation. He didn’t know what he was laughing about, but nothing had ever been this funny.

He took a swig from Yuuri’s bottle, grimacing against the burn of it, and then so did Yuuri, and then they were kissing, messy and deep, lips and tongue tasting of spiced rum.

They stumbled away, giggling, holding on to each other.

* * *

Somehow they found themselves on the second floor of the frat house. The crowd of guests was thinner here, though there were still plenty of people milling around, conversations in the hallway, couples or groups making out on sofas and beds. There was a room where some people were playing darts, and another shrouded in hookah smoke. 

They didn’t stop, moving along the hallway, arms around each other, giggling like teenagers—which Phichit technically still was. Fleeing the sickly artificial scent of the hookah, they followed a fresh breeze into a room with sofas and soft chairs pointed towards a large screen. A group of boys seated close to the screen were playing video games, screaming and cursing. There were a couple of girls toward the back, one of them crying, the other comforting. Usual college party business.

What attracted him and Yuuri, though, was the large glass door opening onto a balcony, letting in the cool night air. They ambled outside, Phichit pulling Yuuri along, breathing in the crisp air in deep gulps to clear the sweat and alcohol haze and artificial cherry flavoured smoke out of his lungs. 

There were people outside in the garden underneath them, shouting and laughing, the bass-heavy music from inside bleeding out into the night through the open doors. The illuminated pool cast everything in an eerie blue light. 

Phichit didn’t pay much attention to any of it, turning around instead to crowd Yuuri back against the wall, his lips clumsily seeking Yuuri’s. They made out, sloppy and lazy, Yuuri’s hands hot where they stroked Phichit’s bare midriff, Phichit’s own hands running through Yuuri’s hair, down his neck and shoulders towards his nipples bared by the see-through turtleneck. He broke their kiss in order to follow the movement of his hands with his lips, and Yuuri let out a sinful sigh, tilting his head back to rest against the wall.

Phichit was taking his time kissing down Yuuri’s throat, and he had not yet reached his collarbone when Yuuri’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pushing him gently but wordlessly away.

“Yuuri?”

Phichit watched him take slow steps toward the railing of the balcony, something alight in his eyes, something determined, with an edge to it.

The grin on his lips was wide, wide.

“I’m gonna jump.”

“What?”, Phichit asked, barely processing the words, giggling helplessly, “What are you talking about?”

“Gonna jump”, Yuuri repeated, turning his head toward Phichit, hands already on the railing, features sharply illuminated by the warm light streaming out from inside the room, the cool blue shine from the pool behind him, “into the pool. From here.”

Phichit shook his head, laughing still, “Yeah, right”, he said, because it was a joke, right? It was funny. But a sliver of doubt was starting to creep in.

“Don’t think I can do it?”, Yuuri said, grin still fixed on his face, and the muscles in his arms tightened as he made to boost himself over the railing.

Phichit stumbled forward and grabbed onto his arm. He was still laughing, the situation not quite penetrating through the alcohol-induced carelessness, but some of the haze dissipating a little. 

“Stop, Yuuri, that’s dangerous!”

Yuuri laughed too, dismissive.

“It’s not that deep. People do it all the time.”

“Yeah, in, like, movies and shit! But this is… what if you miss, or, like, hit your head or something?”

“Come on, Peach! Nothing’s gonna happen!” Yuuri was slurring a bit, his voice wheedling, like it got when he was trying to convince Phichit to break their diet. “It’s just a bit of fun!”

Phichit was weak to that voice, always was, more so since Yuuri employed it only rarely, but even in his drunken fog, his mind still struggling to catch up, he knew this was not something he could relent on.

“Yuuri, no, that’s—… why do… what’s—…?” He was floundering, trying to make sense of the situation. In his mind, moments began to collect like puzzle pieces: Yuuri’s unusual enthusiasm about going out, the drinking, the careless PDA, the dancing, the manic edge to his grin, the _drinking_ … The way he hadn’t said a single word about any of it, and Phichit hadn’t asked, not a single time had he stopped to ask _why, why this, why now_ , because he loved it, and so he hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that it _wasn’t Yuuri_.

“Yuuri?” Phichit grabbed him with his other hand too, now, turned him around firmly to face him. “What’s going on? Why—why are you like this?”

“Why?”, Yuuri echoed, and he laughed again. There was something about that laugh that made Phichit shiver—it did sound like he was genuinely amused, but there was some edge to it, something manic. 

Something in Phichit’s mind fell into place as soon as he had that thought: _he sounds manic_.

“Yuuri”, he said, squeezing Yuuri’s arms a bit firmer to catch his attention, “have you been taking your meds?”

Yuuri’s laugh faded, but there was a lopsided grin still on his face.

“I ran out three days ago.”

Phichit stared at him, but Yuuri continued, voice careless. “I also haven’t been sleeping, really, so that may have something to do with it. I’m running mostly on energy drinks, to be honest. And that chocolate with coffee in it. Lots of that.”

“Why—why didn’t you get a refill?”

Yuuri laughed again, but it was bitter now, too bitter. 

“Peaches, I barely know how I’m going to pay rent next month, let alone Celestino. I—...”, here his voice stuttered, the first time tonight, Phichit realised, that usually so familiar tinge of anxiety, “I didn’t make top twenty at Worlds. Again. I barely even made it to the Free Skate. I got nothing. I can’t exactly afford to drop two hundred dollars on meds just like that.”

“Yuuri, shit...”, Phichit shook his head, “why didn’t you say something? I could have helped, I could...”, he sighed and ran his hands up Yuuri’s arms, over his neck until he was cupping his face. “You can always talk to me, you know? We can figure something out. But neglecting your health is not going to solve anything.”

Yuuri chewed on his lips, hesitant for a moment, then he tipped forward, hunched over, until he could bury his face against Phichit’s neck. Phichit wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

“I just—“, Yuuri murmured against his skin, “I just wanted to forget about it, you know? Just for a while. Just for tonight. I just—… I just wanted to be happy. With you.”

Phichit ran his hand slowly up and down Yuuri’s back. He could feel the goosebumps on his skin through the thing fabric of his shirt.

“I understand, Yuuri. I do. And we don’t—we don’t have to talk about it any more right now, if you don’t want to. We can deal with it tomorrow. But I’m also not gonna let you jump off the balcony, jeez.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What if you broke your ankle, huh?”

Phichit could feel Yuuri shrug under his hold.

“Maybe it would be for the best.”

Phichit pulled back, scowling. “No! Yuuri, don’t you even say something like that!” He tilted his head, searching Yuuri’s gaze. “You’re a beautiful and talented skater, and the world and the sport will always be better for having your skating in it. You’ll get there.”

Yuuri huffed a mirthless laugh.

“I’m twenty-two, Peaches. I don’t even know how many years of skating I got left in me.”

“You’ll get there”, Phichit repeated, more firmly this time, “Next season’s gonna be your season, Yuuri. I can feel it.”

Yuuri made a disbelieving noise in his throat, but he didn’t say anything else.

For a long while they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, swaying slowly on the spot, the rest of the party, the distant music and shouts forgotten.

With the adrenaline dissipating, the haze of drunkenness slowly descended again on Phichit, a wave of dizzy exhaustion and sticky affection.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?”, he finally asked, whispering the words against the shell of Yuuri’s ear, “dance some more? Get another drink?”

Yuuri’s hair tickled against his neck as he shook his head.

“No”, he murmured, lips wet and breath hot against Phichit’s skin, “wanna go home. My feet hurt.”

A peal of laughter burst forth from Phichit before he could stop himself, and after a moment, Yuuri, too, snorted a laugh in the crook of Phichit’s neck.

“Told you it’s not that easy!”, Phichit said, before pulling back and reaching for Yuuri’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Come on then, Katsuki. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Both Yuuri's and Phichit's outfit were inspired by the photos in [this wonderful article about Ezra Miller](https://www.gq.com/story/ezra-miller-gq-style-cover-story).
> 
> work title from [Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time by Panic! at the Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHqGPsYxcNM).


End file.
